


You'd Think That'd Be as Bad as it Gets, Right?

by dragonnan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everything Hurts, Gen, MAJOR spoilers for Avengers Infinity Wars, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Set immediately after the end of part 1, Thanos mentioned, Will do my best not to spoil in the tags or description
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 14:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14522508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonnan/pseuds/dragonnan
Summary: Tony had never been a fan of healthy coping.  Of unhealthy coping mechanisms; he had a warehouse of that shit to choose from.  Nothing dulled reality like a a shot of bourbon, two shots of passive aggressive innuendo, and forty-eight hours running on the fumes of both while building something that could brew the world's best coffee with equal chance of transcending human existence and traveling through time.





	You'd Think That'd Be as Bad as it Gets, Right?

There were people who thought he distrusted magic. Not true. Rather, he distrusted anyone actually using the term “magic” unironically. Magic was science – pure, if not so simple. If it didn't make sense that was only because the mechanism wasn't yet understood. There were those who thought his suits were magic. To some poor slob in the paleolithic he'd damn near be a god. Basically that was how Thor got his whole rep. There was nothing he'd encountered that couldn't be explained. Everything had a logic behind it. Everything.

 

Or... so he'd been telling himself for the past twenty minutes and two days. Or was it one? God, he had no idea...

 

It was warm.

 

Dry – sorta stale. No surprise, really. A planet devoid of life had a way of losing that rich flavor of existence. Ash, though... plenty of that – lingering. Right at the back of the throat.

 

Cyber Smurfette had wandered off... somewhere. Not that she'd been the gabby type, really.

 

A rough cough brought up another mouthful of coppery salt. Tony leaned to spit bloody saliva and held his breath at the corkscrew of pain the swelled through his gut. Amazing fortune that he'd been catapulted to the other side of the universe with a doctor. Fairly standard issue luck that the same doctor had... melted.

 

He was still wearing half a suit.

 

Probably should deal with that. At some point. Maybe.

 

Tony had never been a fan of healthy coping. Of unhealthy coping mechanisms; he had a warehouse of that shit to choose from. Nothing dulled reality like a a shot of bourbon, two shots of passive aggressive innuendo, and forty-eight hours running on the fumes of both while building something that could brew the world's best coffee with equal chance of transcending human existence and traveling through time.

 

His fingertips trembled and he hugged them around his arms. Why had he thought it was warm? It was freezing! Being fresh out of bourbon didn't help. Also fresh out of tools to build with and a voice to mutter so much as a single quip. Quips had kinda dried up with instant eradication of lives beyond even his ability to count.

 

He needed to move. But... where?

 

He'd been needing to move for the past twenty minutes but, every time he thought it, it followed with... why?

 

There was no destination on this planet that would get him anywhere save another wind blasted outcropping. Was there a more savory, dirt-filled, crevasse to hole up? Maybe one with a functional space ship?

 

Crashing behind him and he stumbled forward – the hand not cupped around his midsection rising to block...

 

Heavy metal chick grabbed another gigantic wedge of smashed ship – hurling – screaming as it struck the earth. The fifteen foot section of hull cartwheeled across the wind blasted rock – throwing plumes of red dust before slowing – still on its edge. After a second, metal groaning, it toppled to its side.

 

Tony wobbled – taking a widening step to keep his balance.

 

His heel brushed something that clinked. He turned. A small silvery tube. One of the spent web casings for the new Spiderman suit. He swallowed. Vision shimmered and he stumbled again – free hand pawing the air for support. When nothing appeared to keep him upright he landed on his ass instead – sharp grunt pushing past his teeth as he clenched them tight – wet collecting in his lashes and beneath the hand clamped to his middle.

 

“How badly are you injured?”

 

He shook out a gasp – blinking at the shape blocking the sinking light. “Sorry...” He coughed something thick. “Didn't mean to interrupt your demolition. You ever need a sparring partner, I know this giant... green guy...” further coughing shut down the layers of sarcasm he'd been spackling. Not that death by rageborg was such a bad way to go for a guy like him. Actually fitting. Better than something mundane like exposure, starvation, dehydration, or blood loss.

 

_I'm sorry, Pepper... I'm so sorry..._

 

Mind pulled back from its inward tumble in time to catch a similar agony in the cobalt hued face across from his. Or was that just the blood shade of the setting sun on softly gleaming implants?

 

“You're bleeding. Your wound isn't properly sealed.”

 

Tony tipped his head upwards. “It's fine. Just needs... 'nother layer...”

 

“Lie flat.” The more machine than woman knelt and pushed at his shoulder. Tony pulled away and clutched himself when the movement twisted his midsection.

 

“Mmmmm... not that I wouldn't have been into something exactly this kinky, once, but...”

 

“Shut up.” She didn't appear to be putting any additional muscle into her hold but damn if she didn't have him pinned like a beetle. _Or a spider..._ Helpful, his brain... and no surprise that his breath started to pump his lungs faster than oxygen could fill them. Speaking of which, what were the odds that some random, distant planet, would have approximately the right mix of oxygen and hydrogen to sustain human life? Also – on that same distracting and distancing topic, did his torturer need to breathe? He hadn't been focusing so much on her respiration as he had the fascinating hardware holding her together. More or less...

 

Her fingers prodded along his patch job – light poking that still managed to hurt a hell of a lot. And then, for funsies, one finger pushed subdermal.

 

“HuuuuuUUUUUUSHIT!” If he could have moved he'd have... well, arm-wrestling wouldn't be likely to be a winning tactic. He was fresh out of winning tactics.

 

“You are bleeding internally. However, your nanotechnology appears to be adequately closing the wound. You will still require surgery, however, to repair your damaged organs.”

 

Tony choked as her hand pulled free – his blood slick across the fingers she wiped on her thigh. “Nothing to do with you cramming... your hand... into my left kidney!” Tight throat made the gasping breaths hard won victories and he really felt he was due a few of those.

 

“Your kidney is uninjured. You small intestine, however, has been perforated and your left lung is compromised. You'll probably die from septic shock within two or three days.”

 

“Comforting.” His lips pulled back from his teeth and he clamped his eyes shut as she stood – letting the sun smack its rays full in his face.

 

“We need to leave this planet.”

 

Tony laughed. It hurt and there was nothing good about it but it cackled out of him between shuddering pants. “Just give... give me a second... build you a rocket...” He could build a flying suit out of missile parts – surely he could manage a rocket from a space ship graveyard... Presuming he could hold himself together that long...

 

“Go ahead. I plan to take Quill's ship.”

 

Tony squinted. “Or, yeah, we could do that...”

 

 

↔

 

 

“ _Mr. Stark...?”_

 

Wide, terrified, eyes...

 

“ _Mr. Stark, I-I don't... feel good...”_

 

No...

 

“ _Please...”_

 

Pete...

 

“ _I don't want to go...”_

 

It's gonna be okay...

 

“ _Why...? Why did... didn't... you stop him...?”_

 

I tried... I tried... I tried...

 

“ _You could have stopped him!”_

 

Violent inhale and upward lunge rapped his head against the hovering equipment. “Ahhhhh... fuck.” Wrapping fingers around his skull while his eyes checked out the surroundings. Off brand antiseptic stench was the tangy clue offering two options. Didn't look like his expectations of a torture chamber but, then, he'd encountered a lot of mad scientists in his day and who was he to judge décor?

 

He did know he hadn't fallen asleep/passed out here – though he had a very sketchy memory of being dragged across rough stone by one arm.

 

Not a bad medical wing, all things considered. Most of the equipment was basically recognizable. Enough that he could get by, anyhow.

 

His shirt was missing.

 

Also his suit. Not that it had been covering much, anymore. With no signs of his garments in the three drawers he randomly poked through, Tony abandoned the less than fully sterile room for exploration of, what he presumed, was Quill's ship. Given that this was the same guy calling himself “Starlord” he was impressed it could fly.

 

Not a vast space by any means, he soon discovered the crew's quarters – one of them, disturbingly, filled with rotting vines and dead branches. Not creepy at all. Another room smelled strongly of animal musk. However, it was also packed, floor to ceiling, with electronics and mechanical devices so he made a note to check it out later.

 

The third room smelled, by far, the worst. However it also had a drawer full of shirts in roughly his size. Digging out one with the logo of a place called “Bar Bo'Lakks”, he pulled the dark blue fabric over his head – wincing as the motion stretched his middle.

 

Lifting the hem, he took in the puckered repairs to his injury. What looked like a more involved and careful patch-up to his quick and dirty patch-up; at least his vision was starting to clear. Not that he really wanted to bring everything into sharper focus but, hey look, a liqueur cabinet? Yeah, he could get behind that. That purple stuff looked promising...

 

A sharp twist to his footing almost threw him against the bulkhead; probably should hold off the drunken haze for a minute.

 

Retracing steps, he cut through either a galley or maybe an arcade – munching the inside of his cheek at the narrow ladder that appeared to be the only way to the cockpit.

 

A whole family of creative cussing seeped between clamped lips with each agonizing upward step. One rung slip was enough to spark fireworks across his vision. And, for the record, he'd like to see anyone else get leveled by a freaking moon and not have a mild concussion.

 

Emasculating realization that Thanos had been pulling his punches...

 

Another, smaller seating area, littered with food wrappers, greasy mechanical parts, and more of those decaying vines. But, beyond that, was what he'd been looking for. His boots clanked an uneven step across the grating. There was seating for five in the cockpit – one of those seats occupied by his intense and somewhat unsympathetic... teammate? Not quite... Didn't really have one of those any more...

 

“ _I don't want to go...”_

 

Breath sucked through his nose and his eyelashes fluttered tight. Not now...

 

Shaking hand lowered him to the seat adjacent. His breathing wasn't fantastic... he'd take it over not breathing, though.

 

“Hey, Locutus,”

 

“Nebula.”

 

“Right. Look, I don't exactly have a roadmap, here, but I'm pretty sure we took a left at the big asteroid field when we flew into town. Not that I don't appreciate the space tour but there's a few things I really need to check on back on Earth, so-”

 

“I'm not going to Terra.”

 

“Come again?” Was that a prepubescent shrill in his tone? One hand clamped on the arm of his seat as he felt his respiration try to pick up speed. Pinpricks of sweat clustered on his upper lip. “Yeah, no, not debatable. I don't care about whatever vendetta you're cooking up and I'm not interested in round two, at the moment. I don't know if you were completely focused back there? But ninety percent of our little Seal team just got vaporized! Thanos didn't so much as blink when we were at full capacity – you think the two of us can roll up on him, now, and take...?”

 

“I'm not after Thanos. Not yet.”

 

He'd heard her voice at full shout – furious – for most of the two hours he'd known her. Hearing this soft – calm reply – by far was the more unnerving. His forward tilt tilted back again – against a seat that was far more comfortable than the ship design suggested it should be. His throat jagged up and down – not quite a swallow and not quite a breath. His skin felt suctioned to his body and the urgent beat of his heel against the metal plating was the only thing keeping him attached to his own frame. He needed to do something with his hands – though, mostly, he wanted to snatch the controls and aim the ship... somewhere...

 

Surrounded by stars he'd never seen...

 

Lit by nebula and moons instead of a warm, golden sun...

 

He gulped around the urgent plea that tried to worm up from his belly.

 

He needed music.

 

Random slapping at buttons – the guy had said he was from Missouri, right? Red-blooded American kid; no way he didn't have some sorta tunes...

 

“ _Ground control to Major Tom...”_

 

Uncontrolled, a furious laugh roared from his aching gut – tears of all sorts rolled down his stubble speckled cheeks as David Bowie's horridly fitting “Space Oddity” carried out from speakers in the console.

 

“ _Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles, I'm feeling very still, and I think my spaceship knows which way to go..._

_Tell my wife I love her very much... she knows...”_

 

He started coughing – wanting to waylay Nebula's hand as it slapped the knob back to silence once more – cutting off the etherial Ziggy Stardust midway through the chorus, _“Here am I floating 'round my tin can...”_

 

Laughter had devolved, by this point, into something choked off and trembling – Tony shoving back upright and letting his legs ramble him off... somewhere.

 

Somebody's quarters, it turned out.

 

Only really noting that the smell was actually... pleasant... he dropped his ass on a firm mattress at the far end of the room.

 

He didn't remember lying down.

 

He did remember, between eyes creasing shut – saltwater trickling around the lobe of his ear, and the creeping dull black of sleep... the echoing _SNAP_...

 

And everything becoming dust...

 


End file.
